


Anoxia/Spark

by LittleLinor



Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Asexual Character, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLinor/pseuds/LittleLinor
Summary: It was just supposed to be a school project.





	Anoxia/Spark

**Author's Note:**

> The content warnings should be obvious from the tags, but to make it extra clear: this is very much non-con, and very much not the sexy kind. On top of that it focuses on how much harder navigating this shit is when you're ace and/or neurodivergent, and how even that often gets used as excuse. Maybe you'll find it too anvillicious on that front. If you do, write your own, tbh. But for anyone who's had experience with THAT particular factor in sexual violence, well, it's in there, proceed with caution if that's a trigger.  
> Anyway.
> 
> This is like an au-of-the-au of my yet-unposted childhood friends au, and context matters less than content. Just for a bit of context, in this au Chrono and Ibuki met around the time Ibuki got bullied, and became best friends, and Ibuki kind of found a second home with Chrono and Mikuru, going there frequently (because his family is shit and neglectful + emotionally abusive).  
> I would've made an OC for this, but Shouma "if you want to keep a bird in a cage, clip its wings" Shinonome already existed and I don't think I'm doing him a disservice by making him his usual brand of predatory asshole. He just got aged up for the occasion, being the same age as Ibuki (they're 16/17) instead of a couple of years younger.
> 
> Note: normally I laugh at shit comments, but considering the subject matter, any bad faith shit takes WILL get reported. (My apologies to actual readers for the aside)

“I knew it,” he says, his fingers trailing down your chest as the tightness climbs up your throat, choking, nauseating. “You look like you're all bones, but you've been working out, haven't you?”  
You don't know how you got here.

It was supposed to be a school project. Just a school project. A school project that you would have preferred to do alone, but the biology teacher shook her head when you went to the faculty room and asked, smiling at you with well-meaning, encouraging pity.  
“You won't make friends like this, Ibuki-kun. And besides, I know you're capable of doing this on your own. What I want to assess is your ability to work in a team.”  
You're in a club. You've done tournaments before, and you get along fine with your clubmates. But you also can't talk back to a teacher without getting into trouble. And that's how you ended up paired up with Shinonome.  
Shinonome, loved by everyone and feared by a few, although you've never heard a consensus on why. Why he would have picked you as his partner, you didn't understand. Until now, at least.  
He'd been so nice the entire time you spent at his house, you'd almost felt even more uncomfortable. Like you weren't _good enough_ for all he offered, not worthy of the treatment. You forced yourself to drink tea, to eat a biscuit. It wouldn't be polite to refuse, but it feels like too much, even if you know it isn't. You just wanted to finish the paper and go home. You promised Chrono you'd call him, since you might not have time to go like you usually do.  
You're not bad at this! he said, patting your shoulder with appreciation in his voice.  
Here, let me see, he said, leaning over you.  
You raised the paper and let him see. What else could you even do?  
You had to finish the project. Otherwise, you'd get in trouble. And he wasn't even doing anything wrong. You're just— _weird_. You've always been weird. He's actually treating you like a normal guy, isn't that what you wanted all along? Shouldn't you be grateful?

It took you much too long to finish it, nervous as you were. You kept losing focus, spacing out, unable to keep your mind on the work every time you felt breath too close to you, or his weight leaning on yours. You were so painfully aware of yourself, of your body, in ways that you'd never paid attention to before, that it took over almost every resources you had, leaving just a fragment of you to try and _think_. But finally (late, much too late), you'd finished.  
You packed your bag. And he was on your shoulder.  
Leaning, this time. Chin almost to your neck. Weight against your back. Hands on both your shoulders.  
“What, you're leaving already? We only just finished, aren't you going to hang out at least? Do something that isn't schoolwork, for once?”  
Your throat felt so tight that it hurt. You swallow it down, and it hurts all the way down too, all the way to your stomach.  
“… I have someplace to be.”  
“You always do, don't you? Are you that impatient to be home? Or is it something else?”  
“I'm already late—”  
“We're working on something for school. Isn't that a good enough excuse?”  
But you're already done? You don't understand, and that second of hesitation is enough for him to move and face you, keeping you between him and his bed. You never got to stand.  
It's when his hand brushes up your chest that the discordant nervous whispers in your head and guts intersect, and you're hit with equal parts certainty and denial.  
_I don't want to be here._  
_He can't._  
_He couldn't… why would he?_  
_He can't be interested in me. He's already got everything. I'm nothing. If he wanted, he… he… why not ask me at school?_  
_I don't want to be here. I need to go._  
_But if I piss him off…_  
You can't process any of it. And before you know it, he's pressed closer, sliding halfway over your lap, and you can't breathe without taking in some of his already moist air.  
His fingers find your skin, and the nausea twisting in your gut slaps you back to your senses, enough to find your voice.  
“I—” Fingertips to skin, tracing your collarbone. You can't talk—you can't _think_ —caught between running and shutting down. “Shinonome, I really have to go—”  
“Oh, come on. Don't tell me you've never been curious. People _talk_ , you know. Acting like you're above everyone else, like they're not worthy of your attention… are you scared? Or do you think you're too good for this? Your chance is going to slip by, you know?” He smiles. “It's okay, you can tell me.”  
You look away. Your throat feels so hard that you can't move it. He bends a little closer, smile wider, sharper.  
“Or am I not good enough for you because you have a _different_ type? Do you like them younger, perhaps? Like that boy who meets you at the gate sometimes?”  
You freeze. Your body grows so cold that your stomach cramps, your head spinning, buzzing, cast in ice. You don't know how you haven't thrown up on him yet. It feels impossible not to. And yet, your stomach refuses to, too frozen to move.  
_Don't bring Chrono into this!_ you want to scream, because it feels so horribly wrong, like you're sullying him by even bringing him up while this is happening. Like the tar of your feelings will stick to him, dirty him, dull out his light.  
But at the same time, what rises in your gut is a suffocating wave of _guilt_.  
_That's not it! It's not what I want—I—…_  
But the words hanging unsaid on his tongue are nothing you haven't called yourself before.  
Disgusting. Dangerous. _Predatory_.  
You want to disappear.  
Shinonome's smile shines brighter and brighter, and something inside you dies, slowly and quietly.  
“It'd be a shame if _that_ rumour spread, right? What if someone _told_ him? How do you think he'd feel? It must be really scary, to learn something like that about someone you trusted.” He pauses, ponders, freeing his hand to rest a finger on his cheek. “But then again, maybe he _should_ be warned… we have to protect children, right?”  
“Don't…” you breathe, almost shaking. “It's not like that…”  
“Isn't it? You should be careful not to give people the wrong idea, then. But don't worry, I get it. You're just nervous, aren't you? You're always such a perfectionist… is the idea of messing up scary?” He laughs lightly, cheerfully. “Relax! It's really not that hard, you don't have to make such a big deal out of it. Here, I'll take care of everything, you really don't have to worry so much.”  
_It doesn't matter._  
You feel cold, empty. He's smiling, still, gentle and charming, his cheerful smile shining in the brightly lit room.  
A scrap of feeling still flashes, pulling at your heart, a yearning for dim glows and a kind, firm, protective hand on your hair. And then that vanishes too, snuffed out by guilt and emptiness and loss and—  
It doesn't matter.  
It's not like you wanted to do this with anyone. Maybe he _is_ doing you a favour. You never understood how all that worked, what you were _missing_ that everybody else seemed to have, maybe… maybe after you'll actually understand. And… it doesn't really matter, does it? It's not like it's important. It's not like it'll change anything. You just—it doesn't feel comfortable, but it's better than anyone thinking you want to—that you'd—you—you'd rather die than hurt Chrono. You'd rather die than betray his trust. He's given you so much and you would rather disappear than ever disappoint him.  
You don't want this filth, this slander to ever touch him. He doesn't ever need to hear about your feelings. And he certainly, absolutely mustn't hear about _this_. About those fingers crawling up your skin and that weight pressing itself against your crotch, that makes you want to run but just pins you in place like needles holding your guts apart. This heat mixing with the ice in your blood. It's wrong. It's _dirty_. You don't want it anywhere near him.  
So—you have to keep this from him. That's what matters the most. He doesn't need to know that you're dirty now, because you _won't let it touch him_. You won't let it affect him. You run the thought through your head again and again as Shinonome opens your shirt. You won't let it touch him, so it's okay. You can still keep your promise to him. If you can keep this silent, you won't have to run away from him.  
As long as you can do that, it's fine. Everything's fine. It doesn't matter. You just have to play along until Shinonome gets bored of you. He's bound to, once he finds out how boring you are. Once his curiosity about you is sated, he'll lose interest. And you can go back to your life.  
So you wait. Let him trace your muscles. His fingers brush against your nipple; it tingles and stretches strangely and you want to squirm.  
“You're really attractive, you know,” he hums, brushing again, circling. “Everyone's got their eye on you.”  
You don't know what to tell him. You never wanted to catch people's eyes. You just wanted to be left alone.  
Did everyone at school really look at you like this? Was this what they saw in you? Were the people you thought you could maybe start to talk to actually just pretending?  
You don't want people to look at you in this way. It makes you feel as much like prey as it did when they looked at you to hurt you.  
“You look so delicate,” he continues, brushing some hair out of your face. You can't completely hold back the reflexive flinch at his fingertips on your cheek. “Almost like a bird. Pure and white… always flying above… and a little clumsy on land.”  
“… just get on with it,” you mutter. You don't want him talking to you any more. You don't want him to touch your face any longer.  
He laughs.  
“Don't be so hasty. You won't be able to enjoy it if you rush.”  
You don't even know how to reply to that. Never in your life have you prepared lines for such a situation. You don't have any answers to give.  
You look away.  
And then—  
The sound of a clock tower bell, slightly muffled but clear enough with familiarity to cut through the suffocating haze around your head, rises from your bag.  
You blink, and can't breathe.  
Shinonome lets out a little hum of surprise. Your heart beats as the bell rings again.  
There's only one person for whom you have that ringtone set.  
_Chrono._  
Completely on impulse, like a drowning man desperately grabbing for a branch, you bend to the side and pull your bag close.  
Shinonome sighs.  
“Now? Really?” he asks, casually taken back by your rudeness.  
“Sorry—I have to—”  
Mikuru is away this week. It's why you wanted to be there in the first place, instead of coming here for this project. If you don't answer—if there's a problem and he can't reach either of you—  
He gives you a tired look. You fish inside your bag anyway, and pull out your phone, answering straight away.  
Your throat seizes up. You already pressed the green circle, sealing your fate, but usually you always answer his calls with his name, and—  
_What if someone told him?_  
You swallow, try to pull together the words for a normal greeting.  
“… Kouji?”  
His voice snaps you out of it.  
“Yes. Sorry—I was… busy. I'm here. Is everything okay?”  
A slight pause. Your heart is beating so hard that your chest hurts.  
“… are _you_ okay? You sound…”  
“Yes, I'm… I'm fine.”  
“… where are you right now?”  
“It's nothing. I'm fine.”  
“That's not what I asked. Kouji, what's going on? You didn't answer my text either.”  
Text? You hadn't even heard your phone vibrate. Probably because you were too busy trying to shut down.  
You stay silent. A mere thirty centimetres away from you, Shinonome eyes you with calculating eyes. And on the end of the line, Chrono's silence grows somber.  
“… I'm coming to get you.”  
He says it with such quiet, matter of fact determination that you almost don't register it.  
“Huh!?”  
“I'm coming to get you,” he says again, a little louder. “Putting on my shoes _right now._ ”  
And from the shuffling sound of his cheek against the phone, he is.  
“Wait! You don't even know where I am!”  
“Then you'd better tell me, right?”  
“Chrono, it's way too late to go out—”  
You don't even look at Shinonome anymore. You just need to stop him from putting himself in danger, at all costs.  
The sound of keys. A door closing. You know he's not the type to fake it. You can't _breathe_.  
“I'm coming to get you whether you tell me or not,” he says, in the voice that sometimes sounds stubborn and sometimes sounds commanding. “It'll just take me longer to find you. Good thing I'm good at navigating the subway.”  
“Chrono, wait!”  
The sound of elevator doors. He really isn't joking. You knew it from the start, but it still shoves you out of the quicksand your mind and body had sunk into.  
“Wait. I'll come.”  
“I'm still going,” he says.  
“I know. I'll meet up with you.” At least if you do part of the trip, he can stay close to the subway and not start walking alone through unfamiliar streets.  
“Okay. Where.”  
You look up, into Shinonome's eyes, and realise you don't care enough. Whatever he wanted, whatever consequences you might face, it doesn't matter compared to the safety of someone who means everything to you.  
It's like a war's been waged, your heart and body the battlefield, and you feel tired and empty but…  
You feel just a little bit safer.  
The victor of that war was decided the moment Chrono actually decided to fight. And that, in itself, makes you feel safer. You're too tired to feel guilty about it.  
“Asakusa station. The main exit. Stay under the lights.”  
“Give me half an hour.”  
“I'll be there.” You grip your phone tighter. “Promise.”  
“You'd better.”  
You nod, even though he can't hear you. And then stay frozen.  
You don't want to hang up. You don't want to cut that thin, fragile connection between you, that lifeline that made you feel like yourself, for a few seconds. No matter how much you try, your hand stays clenched around the phone against your ear.  
And then, you realise that he hasn't hung up either. That he won't risk shutting you out if you still needed him.  
You don't know how to deal with it. This warm feeling of someone watching over you.  
You swallow, and gather your strength.  
_I can't rely on him for everything._  
“I'll be on my way. See you there.”  
You hang up.

“You're really leaving?” Shinonome asks, sighing.  
“Sorry—it's an emergency.”  
You have to push him off you somehow. Your stomach twists a little at the thought that you might just have to do it by force, but thankfully, to your surprise, he moves off himself when you straighten. You feel a little better; at least he's not obstinate enough to think that this is important enough to ignore an emergency for.  
He sits back, and you grab your bag, shoving your remaining pencil case into it—and your phone in your pocket. You don't want to risk missing a text or call again.  
“It's that kid, right? Chrono, was it?”  
You force yourself not to freeze.  
“Yes. I can't leave him alone outside like this; his guardian isn't here this evening.”  
“You're right. That could be dangerous—he could run into someone with bad intentions.” He smiles, and stands. “I'll come with you.”  
“Huh?”  
“What if there's trouble or he's not where you told him? It'll be easier to look for him with two of us.”  
You can't find anything wrong with that statement, technically. You want to be away from him _so badly_ , but you don't have any objective reason for that. Why would you refuse his help? And if you're too rude to him, he might complain about it to your teacher. And then you might get roped into _more_ group projects.  
“You don't have to,” you sigh, “it's late. But I won't stop you.”  
He smiles, and takes his coat.  
“Splendid!”

It's only about ten minutes on foot to the Asakusa station. Thankfully, Chrono has a head start; you know he was already on his way when you hung up, and getting your bag, putting on your shoes, waiting for Shinonome to lock his door, all that takes time. You shouldn't have to wait too long once you get there.  
It doesn't make the walk there any less comfortable. You feel awkward, nervous. So aware of your own body that it almost feels like you forgot how to walk.  
Once or twice, he tries to make conversation. Isn't the night beautiful? You don't know; your skin feels off, too sensitive and not sensitive enough at the same time, and it's hard to feel anything. You suppose it's probably crisp, because it's February, and your breath is fogging a little.  
Once, he asks you about Chrono. You don't want to answer, but you don't really have a choice.  
“How did you know his guardian isn't here?” he asks, innocent curiosity on his face.  
“She asked me if I could drop by so he wouldn't be alone,” you answer, not looking anywhere but straight in front of you. It's the truth, but also not in the way one would think, and it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. It almost feels like lying. It's claiming you're the one looking after him, like he's a helpless child, when he's the one who immediately got you to rely on him right now. It feels ungrateful. Unfair.  
But it's your best defense. And, indirectly, his. You wish he hadn't involved himself in this, but he did, and you can't fault him for it, because if you're honest with yourself, you're grateful.  
“I see.”  
“I would have gone, but we had homework.”  
“Aww, you could have told me.”  
“I can't make you do all the work. The teacher would know anyway.”  
“Hm, maybe.”  
Thankfully, you suddenly remember, you're the one who held on to all of the work. You can just hand it in tomorrow. And then you'll be done. You won't have to think about this anymore.  
The feeling of relief that washes over you almost makes you stumble.  
You cross the bridge. Part of you wants to run ahead, but there's no point: you'll be there before him anyway. Instead, you just focus on keeping your steps even. On the other side, you can barely make out the light streaming from the station's closest exit.  
Your stomach tightens. What if he's not there? What if your weakness actually caused him to run into trouble? You're still tense as you step off the bridge, as you walk towards the exit you directed him to. You want to know he's okay. You want this to be over.  
Reaching the exit, you stop. He's not there yet, you conclude after a quick look around. His hair makes him hard to miss, and besides, he'd be looking for you too. You fish your phone from your pocket, check that you don't have any messages, and shove it back down, keeping your hand around it.  
“He's not there? Should we look for him?”  
You shake your head.  
“It takes him longer to get here. At least five minutes.”  
“Are you sure he didn't run into trouble?”  
Your throat tightens. But at the same time, his words rub you the wrong way. It's one thing for you to worry that you might have caused him harm. It's another for someone who doesn't even know him to question his ability.  
“He'll be fine.”  
“If you say so.” For someone who says he's worried, he sounds much too cheerful.  
You stand in the cold, watching people walk in and out of the station through the clouds of your own breath. Behind you, to the side, Shinonome is a presence you can't block out, but the crowd takes the edge of your goosebumps away. Here, you may be one of many faceless people, but you're not alone. The anonymity, in itself, is a blessing.  
You hold on to your phone, deep in your pocket.  
“It's been five minutes, you know,” Shinonome tells you, walking closer. You want to brush him off, but the strength you'd need for it is out of your grasp. Your heart, your mind feel so tired.  
“ _Kouji!_ ”  
Your heart jumps. Cold air rushes into your lungs as you turn in the direction his voice came from.  
And there he is, climbing the last couple of steps and coming at a half-run towards you, just careful enough that he doesn't run into anyone on the way or step in front of them too sharply.  
With the light shining on his hair from behind and the burning sharpness in his eyes, he almost looks on fire. You can't help but smile a little.  
“Hey,” he says, slowing down as he gets closer and stopping just within reach, breath a little short. “Did you wait for long?”  
His eyes dart from you to Shinonome, and quickly around.  
“Just a few minutes. You were fast.”  
“All that biking has to amount to _something_ ,” he mutters. He almost seems flustered, but the fire in him hasn't burned down, and he's still standing straight, strong.  
“You shouldn't go strolling outside at this hour at your age,” Shinonome honeys from behind you, taking a step to your side. Again, Chrono's eyes dart to him, and settle this time, frowning. “Who knows where a dangerous stranger could be waiting?”  
“And who are _you_?”  
“His classmate,” he answers, stepping even closer and laying a hand on your shoulder. “We're partners.”  
“Group project,” you mutter, quickly. You don't know whether you're trying to correct the misleading wording or apologise.  
But Chrono's face has already darkened.  
“Right. You mentioned that.”  
“He's good at this stuff,” Shinonome says, cheerful and unperturbed. “Have you ever asked him for homework help? I'm sure he'd be great at it.”  
“It's happened,” he replies, short and cutting. “So are you done?”  
“We're done,” you grab on, taking a step forward. “I'll walk you home.”  
“Chrono, was it?” You freeze. Again, Shinonome walks forward, almost between you and him this time. “Do you want to hear a secret? I've got some fun stories to tell you.” He smiles. “He's a guy with lots to hide.”  
Chrono's frown hardens, and as he opens his mouth to speak, you could almost swear you see him snarl, the tips of his teeth bared.  
“If he has secrets, then he can tell me _himself._ ” Dodging past Shinonome, he grabs your hand, and pulls. “C'mon, Kouji. We're going.”  
Part of you almost freezes in fear. But his grip is both strong and familiar, and you follow, on reflex. In a few seconds, he's already put several passersby between you and Shinonome.  
“I'll see you at school”, Shinonome calls. You swallow and keep walking, until the lights of the station drown out the dark figures outside.

You don't really talk for the subway ride. You don't think you can, instead floating slightly, moving on autopilot. Scanning your pass and getting past the gates is automatic, and as soon as you have, he grabs your hand again, not actually pulling you anymore but keeping a firm hold on you.  
You move with the crowd, feeling like a ghost, your entire body cold save for that warm hand that keeps you going, keeps you from just stopping and sitting somewhere and staring into space. At this late hour, it's a little easier to find seats, and you end up in one without really paying attention.  
It's only after a few stops that he squeezes your hand lightly and quietly, gently asks you:  
“… do you wanna go home instead? I was gonna bring you with me, but…”  
For a second, you picture going to your house and having to talk to your mother. It feels like acid burning into your stomach.  
You can't quite make yourself talk, but you shake your head.  
“… okay,” he says, squeezing again.  
The doors to the station connecting to your line open. People walk out, in. His hand stays in yours.  
The doors close, and you speed away again.

When you finally step out of the subway station and onto the street, he waits until you've walked a minute or two and cleared the busy streets before moving closer to you.  
“… are you okay?” he asks, sounding unsure for the first time this evening. Almost scared.  
Scared of what, you don't know.  
“I'm…”  
You can't finish that sentence. You want to tell him that you're okay, but you don't feel okay. You feel… nothing.  
Like there's too much just under the surface, but you can't touch any of it. Like a stormy sea kept locked down by a thick layer of ice. Frozen. Unmoving.  
Empty.  
“I'm sorry,” he says, quietly. “For forcing your hand like that. I just didn't know how else to get you out.”  
You shake your head. It's fine.  
He stops, and spins around to face you, not letting go of your hand.  
“Did he…”  
He trails off. You can't answer.  
“Kouji?” he asks, firm but quiet. Gentle. “Did he do anything to you?”  
“He wanted to…” you start, distant, but then your throat seizes up and you remember. You can't let any of this touch him. You can't—can't _talk about that_. You can't leave it out there for him to see.  
You're still trying to put together appropriate, non disgusting words when he takes another step closer, close enough to reach but still not touching you save for that hand still gripping yours.  
“Kouji…” He hesitates for a second, hurt and worry and uncertainty in his eyes, before quietly coming to a decision. “… I'm not clueless, okay? I grew up in an orphanage, remember? Not everyone in there actually has dead parents.” He squeezes again. “You don't… you don't have to protect me.”  
You don't know what to say to that. Somehow, the idea that he could see that on you only makes you feel worse. Like everything is suddenly more real.  
Nothing even happened. So why are you…  
You want to cry. But all you can feel is the ice in your stomach.  
You stare a little lower than his eyes, empty. His face falls. It feels like you disappointed him.  
“Did he touch you?” he murmurs, almost in a hiss.  
“I'm fine,” you all but sob out. “He—we didn't actually do anything.”  
His eyes close. His teeth clench.  
“I'm sorry—”  
“Wh— _no!_ ” He looks back up, eyes blazing. “You didn't do anything wrong, okay?” You look away. “Kouji! Listen to me!”  
You look back at him. He's filled with so much fire that you feel small. Weak.  
Somehow, you lost a battle that you didn't even know you had to fight. You don't even have words for your own weakness. Your own helplessness.  
“I'm sorry,” you say again, more quietly.  
He bites his lip, and reaches for your arm, stopping a breath away from it. Then, after a second, he takes it gently.  
“Hey. I mean it. You didn't do anything wrong. I know you didn't.” He purses his lips. “That guy smelled like asshole a mile away. And he even had the guts to try and badmouth you?”  
“He didn't do anything,” you try to argue. “Does… does it matter anyway?”  
“Huh?”  
“Everyone else is already doing it. I'm the only one who doesn't get it. So…”  
He squints, frowning.  
“Did _he_ say that?”  
“He… he confirmed it. I kinda knew already. But I never wanted to think about it.”  
He falls silent. You swallow, wanting to run away and much too tired and empty to do it.  
“… so what?”  
You blink.  
“So what if others have done it?” he asks again, looking right at you. “Does it matter? It's not, like, some school exam, you don't have to pass a test. What's the point if you don't enjoy it?”  
_What's the point?_ You asked yourself that question so many times in the past, when you couldn't avoid the topic altogether. Why do people seem so desperate for it? You never really got it. You just knew it'd be expected of you, someday.  
You just didn't think that day would come so soon.  
But a 'point'? Can you even find one?  
After a minute of silence, he moves a little closer.  
“… can I hug you?”  
You nod, numbly. His hand leaves yours just long enough to secure itself against your back instead.  
His embrace is warm. Solid. The light squeeze of his arms, instead of making you feel trapped, just makes you want to collapse.  
Choking back a sob, you bring a hand up to hold on to his arm.  
“Listen,” he says. His cheek is pressed to your chest, and he's not looking at you, but it feels good all the same. Like you don't actually _need_ to look at each other to understand each other. It feels more natural, almost. “I—I'm not really an expert on the topic, _obviously_. But like… I think… the point of that stuff… it's to do something nice with someone you like, right? It's supposed to make you _happy_. If it's not making you happy, then…” He pauses. “It's just not the right time and place? Or not the right person. Whatever. My point is, if you don't want it, if it's not making you happy, then it's pointless. Why push anyway?”  
Why? You don't know. It all sounds so simple when he puts it like that, but…  
But you kept telling yourself that it didn't matter. You never actually wanted it. So is there really such a thing as a wrong time? A wrong place? Isn't it all the same?  
“… see it like this,” he continues, his voice falling into slightly less careful, more familiar patterns. “It's like Vanguard, okay? Say I meet someone and I think they're cool and I _really_ want to fight them. If they want to, then great! We can have fun! But if they don't want to, why would I force them? Maybe I'd have fun, but they wouldn't. And—and that'd make me an asshole!” He pauses, then tenses a little, turning his face even more as if to hide. It's… endearing, and you find yourself breathing a little more calmly. “A—anyway, there's a bunch of reasons why someone doesn't want to play. Maybe they're not in the mood. Maybe they don't have time. Maybe they just don't like card games!” He keeps talking, faster and faster, embarrassed but determined to get his point across. You let your head rest forward on his. “And maybe if they just weren't in the mood to try now, they could want to try it later when they feel better. And _then_ it'd be fun! But if I push them until they do, it's just going to be miserable for them? And it might ruin any chance they could have to have fun later. Because now instead of getting to discover it, they'll always remember how bad it was when they had to play when they weren't excited for it. And how rude the players were. So they won't get to have fun, because I pushed them when they didn't want it.” He stops, takes a breath. “I guess… I guess my point is, if you don't want to play, people should mind their own business. And maybe my explanation's dumb but if _I_ can get that, then that guy can too. And if he tries anyway, then _that makes him an asshole_.”  
It's the heated, embarrassed, offended way he talks that breaks the layer of ice surrounding you. It's so familiar, tones that have made you feel at home for years. You press your face into his hair, and let his words sink into you. These, but those from earlier too.  
Maybe he's right. But thinking about it hurts. Admitting that you weren't scared for nothing, that you weren't just being stupid hurts. Remembering fingers on your skin instead of dismissing them as irrelevant hurts.  
But you never asked for this. You never did and—it's not fair. It's _not fair_.  
You don't even remember when you brought your second arm around him. But you're clinging, with everything you have, and in response he keeps holding you, arms secure around your waist.  
And before you know it, tears are falling. It takes you a moment to register it, and when you finally do, you try to move away, to not dirty his hair, but even though you lift your head, he stays securely wrapped around you.  
And you don't want him to let go.  
Slowly, very slowly, you bring your forehead to rest against his hair again, and let the tears run their course.  
When your eyes finally dry, you open them again, and look down. He's resting against your chest still, his own eyes cosed, face gentle, almost at peace.  
You don't feel okay. Not quite. But this, at least, feels right.  
You're not alone.  
“… Chrono?” you call, quietly.  
“Mm?”  
“… thank you. For calling when you did.”  
His arms tighten around your waist.  
“Yeah. I'm glad I did.” A little chuckle, and he leans his head more firmly against you. “And there I was worrying I'd be bothering you… I should listen to my instinct more.”  
“You wouldn't be bothering me anyway…” You pause. “… Chrono?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Please don't put yourself in danger for my sake again.”  
“… I want to say yes, but…” he looks up, and his serious frown is both grounding and somewhat adorable, “what if _you_ 're in danger?”  
“Your safety matters more to me.”  
“Oh yeah? Well maybe yours matters to _me_.”  
You stare at each other. You really don't want to argue with him right now. You're exhausted, and you don't want to alienate the one person with whom you'd feel safe right now. But while he's always been stubborn, this is one issue where you don't think you can back down either. The stalemate twists at your chest a little.  
Still eyeing you, he pursed his lips, thoughtful.  
“… you know what. Why don't we make a deal.”  
“Hm?”  
“I can't guarantee I'd never do something dangerous, cause reflexes happen, you know? _But_ , I promise I'll do my best to avoid it, and look for better solutions. That good enough?”  
“… I suppose it'll have to do.”  
“But in exchange, you gotta promise me something too.”  
“What is it?”  
“Don't let anyone make you do something like that if you don't want it, okay? I don't mean if they're forcing you, like, safety first, you know, but...” He pauses, then starts again, more quiet, but also firm. “… don't let someone convince you that you _have_ to do it. Go for it when it'll actually make you happy. Okay? Don't let anyone take that from you.”  
Somehow, it coming like an almost order rather than advice feels freeing. You take a deep breath, and lean against him.  
“I promise.”  
“Good.” He pauses, fidgets a little. “… I trust you, so you don't have to tell me about it if you do. I mean you _can_ but you don't _have_ to,” he quickly adds, words coming faster and faster.  
You laugh. He looks up, shocked, then smiles hesitantly.  
“You don't want to hear about it, huh?” you tease.  
“Well _yeah?_ Sex is _weird_.”  
You smile.  
“I'm with you on that one.”  
“But if you _need_ to talk about it, then I'm here. Cause I'm your best friend, you know.”  
“… with the terms you gave me, I don't think it'll become an issue anytime soon. Thank you, Chrono.”  
“You're welcome,” he mumbles.  
It's warm. And you don't want to think about what it'll be like when you're alone with your thoughts, with your sensations, but. For now, it's okay. For now, you're okay.  
A lone man walks by, shoots you a look. You try to ignore it, but can't help pulling back a little.  
Chrono huffs at him, his face all too serious, but instead of embracing you again, he takes your hand.  
“I think we deserve some hot chocolate,” he declares.  
“… I wouldn't say no to that.”  
He smiles a little, and starts walking.  
“And some food. Have you even eaten yet?”  
“No. But isn't it late? You have school tomorrow too.”  
“Going to bed late once won't kill me. And I'm hungry too,” he says, as if that made things final.  
You don't actually want to argue. Normally, you'd try to be responsible. But right now, you don't want to give up on the warmth of his company, or that of his food.  
You'll be responsible tomorrow.

The next day, you leave for school early. You make breakfast yourself, to give him a few more precious minutes of sleep, and leave once you're sure he's awake and on the tracks to getting ready.  
“Kouji!” he calls out as you're about to open the door.  
You turn to look at him.  
“… if you need me, call me, okay? Promise?”  
“… I promise.”  
He smiles. Somehow, you do too.  
“… don't be late,” you tell him, turning back towards the door.  
“—right.”  
You leave the apartment to the noise of cutlery, of life that goes on.  
You need to go on too.

You reach school early. It's on purpose: you want to get to the faculty room before class, and hopefully before anyone else has that idea. Thankfully, when you do, your teacher is at her desk, sipping a cup of tea as she goes over some papers.  
You hand in the report.  
“Oh! Are you sure? You still have two days.”  
You shake your head.  
“We finished it last night. I'd rather focus on something else, we have exams coming up.”  
And most importantly, you want it handed in before Shinonome has any time to intervene and find another excuse to be alone with you. Or to try anything funny while she collects them in class.  
She smiles.  
“I suppose that's true. Good job, then.”  
You bow, and leave the room.  
You still need to go to class. But you won't be alone. And with the exams coming up, you have plenty of excuses to be busy and make yourself scarce when you need to.  
Just a few weeks. Just a few weeks, and maybe you'll be free. Maybe you'll never again have to work with Shouma Shinonome.  
Maybe it's a pointless hope. But Chrono ran into potential danger to come help you, just because he had a feeling you might be upset or in trouble. You have to live up to that. You have to be strong. You have to believe in yourself, in your own future.  
You'll protect yourself, and hope. And fight for a bright future where you feel free again.  
For now, you have to live to tomorrow. To make it through today, and then the next.  
You open the door to your classroom.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't get the chance to mention it in the fic bc it didn't flow right, but Ibuki has his own extra futon that they take out when he sleeps over, so he's on the floor in Chrono's room and Chrono often leans his head over the edge to talk to him, it's very cute.


End file.
